


I have seen too much (I haven't seen enough)

by blueberrywizard



Series: [mixtapes from stewjon] [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (Is it foreshadowing if we're talking about visions?), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Based on a Radiohead Song, But also not? You choose, But it also keeps fucking with him, Cody is a darling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Foreshadowing, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Not Beta Read, Nothing graphic ever happens in my fics, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is Trying, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Chosen One, Open to Interpretation, Planet Stewjon is Space Scotland, Prophetic Visions, Self-Hatred, The Force Loves Obi-Wan Kenobi, This whole fic is ambiguous tbh, Time Travel, Visions, Worried CC-2224 | Cody, mild panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29786988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrywizard/pseuds/blueberrywizard
Summary: "He woke up gasping, feeling as if he’s going to burst any second, and the Force was screaming again, but he couldn’t understand it. He was so confused, his head hurt, nothing made sense anymore. He didn’t know where he was orwhenhe was, but he wanted to go back to the place where he had been before."Or: Time is a circle, but you were never meant to know if the lap you're running now is your first one.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi (implied)
Series: [mixtapes from stewjon] [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189487
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64





	I have seen too much (I haven't seen enough)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! 
> 
> There will be a lot of talking, because I love talking to you (and I always feel the need to explain myself, don't ask me why), so brace yourselves.
> 
> English is not my first language, I hate interpunction, nothing new here.
> 
> I have a feeling like I overdid with the tags, but I thought that they might help to interpretate it the way I had it in mind while writing, but honestly, it's purposefully very vague, so it could be open to intepretation. This way, you can participate in the story the way you want. 
> 
> More explanations at the end to avoid spoiling things.
> 
> Title and general idea for the fic come from [Idioteque](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svwJTnZOaco) by Radiohead.
> 
> Enjoy!

This time, everything he was, everything he could feel, was pain. 

He shouldn’t be surprised.

He stood in the room that should be familiar to him, that  _ was _ familiar to him, but it felt like he couldn’t really comprehend where’s he’s standing. The paintings on the floor he used to stare at so often during seemingly never ending meetings were chipped and covered by thick, red blood pooling under bodies. So many bodies.

Wait. There shouldn’t be blood. Why was there so much blood? Who’s in a bunker? What happened?

He turned around and looked up. It wasn’t a bunker, it was a council room. Blood vanished, but the bodies remained. So many bodies. 

Children and crèchemasters were first. Their bodies lied there, abandoned to rot, to decay. He could feel the anguish, the despair, the fear and the Force was screaming at him  _ children and crèchemasters were first they hid there there wasn’t a bunker there was a council room instead children and crèchemasters were first there’s too many of them what are we going to do please help us pleaseplease who’s in the bunker children and crèchemasters were first children were first children and rage and fear so much fear you were meant to protect them not kill them children and crèchemasters were–  _

He woke up gasping, feeling as if he’s going to burst any second, and the Force was screaming again, but he couldn’t understand it. He was so confused, his head hurt, nothing made sense anymore. He didn’t know where he was or  _ when _ he was, but he wanted to go back to the place where he had been before. Where the calm and peace were.

He cried and he laughed hysterically, trying to swallow every sound, press the emotions further inside himself, because releasing them to the Force was impossible, and it was agonizing, but he had to keep it inside, keep it inside, until he burst  _ (or die ~~again~~ ). _ He shouldn’t feel it anyway, shouldn’t feel this fear, this terror, this horrifying realisation– 

“–wan? Are you alright?” A voice nearby, so different from the screaming of the Force, much more real  _ (was it really real?), _ but he couldn’t recognise it, neither from the past nor the present  _ (or maybe it was the present and the future?). _ He flinched, throwing himself at the wall, which only made him panic more, because it meant he had no room to defend himself from the threat.

The voice kept speaking, but he couldn’t understand. When a warm hand, big and calloused, touched his forearm, he reacted without thinking again, and moved, quickly and lightly, wringing it out. When the voice hit higher tones in mildly concealed pain, he let it go, and he ran.

Children and crèchemasters were first. He knew that much.

* * *

He rubbed his eyes, sighing quietly. Force, he was so tired. The visions wouldn’t let him sleep so he turned to work. There was always so much work to do, so many papers to sign, so many things to oversee. 

He was seeing too much, but at the same time, he wasn’t seeing enough in his visions. It was so confusing, and exhaustion settled in his bones like once peace and contentment did. He rarely felt it, these days. All that remained was pain and exhaustion, and  _ fear. _ It wasn’t only his fear, but it was too much to grasp. Too much to handle. 

He wanted to curl in bed, wrapped in a warm, strong body. He wanted to fall asleep feeling safe and woke up feeling safe and rested.

He was painfully aware that his wantings were in fact desires of a foolish man. Not meant for him to have. Never the simple pleasures, simple comforts. Just endurance in the face of evil and pain. Just the infinite sadness.

There was ash in his mouth and blood on his teeth, and all he could smell was burning flesh and acid. He would laugh maniacally if he weren’t so worn out. He rubbed his eyes again and went back to work. People depended on him, after all.

* * *

He woke up with a loud gasp. Dreams he had that night already flown away like a water ixed with blood flew down the drain previously in the evening. He strained his ears to hear the heavy sound of boots meeting the durasteel floor of the hangar, marching to the unheard song, the rhythm of  _ good soldiers follow orders,  _ only to realise that he wasn’t on the board of his ship. No, the sheets that pooled around his waist were different, warmer and more comfortable. Chronometer on the bedside table told him it was the middle of the night, but he couldn’t remember falling asleep. He couldn’t remember the previous day either. 

He could swear he led a different life before. 

The rooms were empty and eerily quiet. He made himself tea and waited for the sunrise, not moving much from his spot on a fluffy round orange pillow. He couldn’t remember it being in here before, but it was his favourite now – it brought him small comfort he couldn’t really explain and couldn’t really deny himself.

He was aware that people stare at him these days, wondering about changes they noticed in him. He wondered about them too, sometimes. They tried to be subtle, but he had a lifetime of experience in recognising the worried stare of someone who thought he was doing something he shouldn’t suppose to be doing. It was all about small things. He sat too still, looked people in the eye a bit too intensely, a bit too close, he moved too quickly, too sure for someone his age  _ ( ~~what was his age anyway?~~ ), _ he was too quiet sometimes, but when he spoke, it was always eloquent and very proper speech. And there were days when he forgot what language he should speak. 

And there were days where he behaved as if nothing wrong ever happened. He smiled brightly and joked around, and forgot doing dishes, and hummed soft Stewjoni lullabies under his breath. 

He couldn’t understand what was happening to him, but it was clear to him that it was a will of the Force, so he followed it, as well as he could. 

“Obi-Wan? How long were you sitting here?” A voice asked him, the note of surprise rang in the question, but he decided to ignore it.

“Not too long.” He answered quietly, sipping his tea. It got cold a long time ago, but he didn’t mind it that much. Once, it could feel like a travesty, but now, he could enjoy small comforts of having his favourite tea on hand. 

“Is everything alright?” The voice was persistent now, but not persistent enough to make him turn around. He was sitting comfortable and the Force was with him, so he’d like to sit still for a few minutes more. He got these small comforts so rarely, it was best to appreciate them in advance.

“Yes, I believe it is.”

There was a bit of a silence, followed by the sound of running water in the kitchen, and porcelain on the kitchen counter.

“I don’t quite understand you these days, Obi-Wan. What are you hiding from me?”

Oh, wasn’t that a loaded question?

“Only things you haven’t seen.” He answered truthfully, standing up. He left the room to get himself ready to start a day properly. The conversation was over anyway. What more he could say? How could he explain it?

He had seen enough of the pain. And yet, he knew he hadn’t seen enough.

* * *

A quiet whine got torn out of his throat. An equally quiet murmur that followed the sound made him shiver and tremble as the warm body thrusted in his.

Oh, Force, for once he felt so alive. 

He moaned again when he felt mouth on his neck, right where it was the most sensitive, on his collarbone which made him shiver again, on his Adam's apple and finally on his lips. He could kiss those lovely lips, so hungrily. He could devour and let himself be devoured. He was desperate for release, but the rhythm they kept together was steady, almost slow, but in no means tender and loving. 

There was a difference between lovemaking in the times of safety, and pleasure coming from an overwhelming need to be close to another person, to make sure they’re alive and still here. 

His orgasm was building for some time now, but it still took him by surprise, almost torn out of his body. He hid his face in the hollow of his neck, trying to ignore tears in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if there were tears of relief or ones of sadness. It could be a bit of both, honestly.

“Shh, it’s alright. We’re alright,” Hand, stroking his back, his hair, made him relax a bit, and he finally stopped shivering, but when his body moved, probably to grab a cloth to clean them up, he tensed again, not wanting him to move. “It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere, I just can’t reach the wipes on the bedside table. I’m still here, with you.”

He could cry again, hearing those tender words. He always knew what to say; he always managed to say what he needed to hear, as if he was reading his mind. 

_ And they call me ‘The Negotiator’, _ he thought bitterly.

And he never lied to him either. He did as he said: he didn’t even get out of bed to grab a bottle of water and wet wipes, he must have left them there before they stumbled into bed (it certainly wasn’t his doing), and his body stayed in contact with him all the time. 

He just wished he could cover him with his body like he did before. He wished for the heavy, warm weight on him, so grounding, keeping him in this moment. 

And in this moment, he’s alive. They’re all alive.

“Hey. Where did you go?” He asked, teasingly, handing him the water. He took it, so he could avoid answering just a bit longer. He always let him take his time, no matter what. He never pressured him to do anything, to be anything he didn’t have the strength to be.

“I don’t know,” He answered truthfully. “Everywhere and nowhere, really.”

He gave him a measuring look, probably trying to judge if he was trying to deflect, or genuinely lost between moments. It happened a lot lately, and they were aware of it. 

“Will you stay?” He asked, because he can’t stop himself. He was painfully aware that he shouldn’t even consider asking, that he had got attached, that it would only bring them pain  _ ( ~~he knew it will only bring him pain~~ ),  _ but then again he couldn’t bear the thought of being left  _ alone. _ It brought him on the verge of a panic more times than he could count (than it should be healthy), but he needed the connection. It was the only thing that kept him right in the moment. 

“Yes. Of course.” He said, calmly. For some reason he didn’t say  _ always _ and he’s grateful for his choice of words. All they need is right now. All they have is right now.

He crawled under the beddings, holding on to him tightly. His hand was back in his hair, stroking slowly. He could relax here, maybe even sleep for a while. He could be safe with him, just for a moment. 

“Do you know,” He murmured into the hollow of his shoulder, but he knew he would hear him. “That sometimes I don’t know your name?”

This sentence, taken out of the context, could quickly become incredibly offensive to his lover. However, he knew that sometimes he needed time to unravel the thread of his thoughts, to let people understand what’s going on in his head. So he waited patiently for him, like he always did. 

“I’m not saying that I cannot recognise you from your brothers. I know who you are. You shine so brightly in the Force, I would know you blind, I would know you in death, at the end of the world. But sometimes, I just don’t know your name.”

He’s still quiet, he knew he’s not done yet.

“It’s just like when I was five or fifteen or twenty-five. I saw your face and I heard your voice and I just knew who you were to me, who you are to me. I knew how it started and I knew how it ends. It’s puzzling, and ambiguous, and sometimes just plainly misleading, and I cannot stop it from happening like it did back then, but I’m so grateful that I have you, even if I shouldn’t, because I love you and I lost you, and  _ I don’t know your name right now.” _

He’s rambling, he’s panicking, because he’s so tired, he’s so alive, and everything keeps happening. 

Everything keeps happening all of the time.

“I shouldn’t have told you this.” He whispered, hiding his face again. He wanted him to stay, but he was afraid he was going to leave, that he finally scared him off. But no, his lover, his beautiful, kind, tender lover, who has a presence larger than life itself and yet so tightly concealed, only letting himself be vulnerable with him… he seemed to understand. 

No, maybe that’s not a good phrasing. He had been understanding, because that’s who he was. But he couldn’t understand it, not in the way that really mattered. But he had been understanding. So it was enough. 

“No, love, I don’t want you to be afraid of telling me things. You’ve always been patient with me, and yet, you can’t see that I want to treat you the same way you treat me. And it seems to me that there’s a lot going on in that pretty head of yours. Let me share your burdens,  _ cyare.” _

This. This broke him.

“It’s coming. It’s coming and I cannot stop it.”

“What’s coming, love?”

He didn’t answer. 

Maybe he cannot stop it all from happening. But maybe, just maybe, he can save one person.

He shook his head.

It was a nice _( ~~selfish~~ )_ thought anyway.

* * *

He was shivering and he couldn’t breathe.

_ Ice age is coming dark age is coming ice age is coming dark age is coming _ chanted in his head like a war song. For a war it was. 

A war he was meant to be ready for.

War. It was something he knew very well. Something he regretted deeply too. But when  _ ice age is coming dark age is coming  _ he also knew he probably wouldn’t get a choice. 

He was meant to repeat the same mistakes over and over again.

_ Ice age is coming dark age is coming ice age is coming dark age is coming ice age is coming dark age is coming ice age is coming dark age is coming ice age is coming dark age is coming–  _

“Dark age is coming? Force, what are you talking about now, Obi-Wan?”

He couldn’t focus his eyes on the person who was speaking to him. He was aware that his gaze must have been a source of discomfort, unfocused and simply  _ not there, _ but he didn’t care. He wanted to listen to the Force, to catch everything it whispered to him, to solve the puzzle it presented to him.

He didn’t know why the Force chose to whisper about all what is meant to be to  _ him. _ There were so many Masters and Knights that would be more suited to do whatever the Force demanded. He, of course, was willing to do anything that was requested of him too, he just didn’t think that he was the right person for the job. After all, he managed to fuck up so many times already.

_ ( ~~he just listened to the Force he always listened to the Force but sometimes he didn’t really hear what it wanted to tell him~~ ) _

“It’s just coming.”

He knew he needed to be ready. He knew there are going to be two sides of the conflict. And he knew he needed to hear both sides to solve the puzzle.

The puzzle he hadn’t managed to solve the first time the Force whispered about it. 

_ Let me hear both sides, _ he begged the Force.  _ Let me understand. Let me stop it let me stop it from happening again please I beg you I can’t go through this again I can’t lose them all again I can’t I can’t I can’t–  _

_ ( ~~he lost consciousness before anyone could ask him~~ _ ~~ what do you mean? ~~ _ ) _

He started learning Soresu faster than the last time. 

* * *

He woke up disoriented and feverish. He wanted to throw up, but he was afraid he would see lava and ash and burning human flesh coming from his mouth. He could taste it on his tongue.

He threw up anyway.

His muscles screamed in pain and he realised, with a bit of a surprise, that everything hurt. His lungs, his throat, he could almost feel the echo of a punch on his cheekbone and burns on his hands and on the soles of his feet. 

He killed him. He heard his screams, his pleading to help him. So much hate, so much rage.

He threw up again. 

“General? Is everything alright?” He was sick of people asking him that question. He looked up to see Cody in his white armour, bucket under his arm, a couple of datapads in his hands. He had this small frown on his face, the one he did when he was worried about him, but didn’t want to be overwhelming. “You didn’t show up for our meeting and you haven’t been answering your comm.”

He should feel ashamed that his Commander found him in this position, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. 

“Can I help you?” He asked softly, putting away his things and coming closer, but still leaving a respectful distance between them. He knew how hard it was for him to accept help from others. He was meant to be the strong one, the reliable one, the one that helps others in need. The one that keeps on giving and giving and giving until there’s nothing left. Until he was hollow and all it ringed in him was the Force singing  _ throw it in the fire throw it in the fire thro–  _

Force, he loved him so much it hurt.

He nodded, but he hadn’t moved from his place otherwise. Cody started with filling a cup and handing it to him. 

“Rinse and spit, alright? Repeat it as much as you need.” His commands were calm and indisputable. He didn’t mind following them. He knew his Commander would never abuse his power. He was cautious with anything that was given to him for he had so little for himself. He wanted to change that. He  _ needed _ to change that. 

He would give Cody the whole galaxy if he could. But he had his duty and it always would come first. 

_ (h ~~e was afraid that he will pay for it with his live that he cannot fulfill his duty without sacrificing himself first~~ ) _

“Force, you have a high fever, General. Do you have–” He couldn’t finish the question, because there was this particular sound, something between a hurt moan and a desperate whine, coming out of his sore throat.

“Don’t call me that. Please.” Cody gave him a look, but he nodded. He could feel his tense muscles relax, not completely, but just enough to feel uncomfortable on a durasteel floor.

“Do you have anything to bring down your fever in your quarters, Obi-Wan?” 

He nodded again and knocked his knuckles once on the doors of the cabinet under the sink. The only things in there were fresh towels and a medpack. He actually got it from medbay, because he pissed off their medics one time too many, and all of them decided that they can’t bully him every single time, so at least they can give him everything he could need to treat minor wounds. But they also expected him to show up when his wounds weren’t exactly minor anymore and surprisingly, he found himself agreeing with them. They even gave him small doses of stronger painkillers, not that he felt the need to use it. They cared for him, and his head hurt, because he  _ knew _ their fate.

Those who fight the war never really leave it. 

He barely felt the needle in his neck, just as he barely heard water filling the cup Cody had handed him earlier. 

“Drink it all, Obi-Wan, slowly.” Hearing Cody saying his name calmed him down. 

He was real. He was there. 

“What were we going to discuss, my dear?” He asked after swallowing the liquid. He wished it was tea. Or some alcohol. He would kill for a bottle of Stewjoni whisky. He didn’t really feel connected to the culture on the planet he had been born on, but he took his time to know at least part of it. Language, customs and food were the most basic components of every culture, and after all, he was a diplomat. He was kind of required to know some of these things, so nobody really frowned upon him learning about Stewjon. And if they were, they would stop after explaining that he learned the same things about cultures of Alderaan, Naboo, Sorreno, Mandalore. The list was almost endless. 

But the thing was, even though he didn’t feel connected to the culture itself, he still found comfort in the parts of it. Like the smooth flavor of honey and nutmeg in their alcohol or sounds of their instruments in his favourite ballad about young prince and failed rising. He made a place in his heart for them, because that’s all he could do. And he appreciated it, he was thankful for things he could experience, even if said experiences were culturally pretty much second-handed. 

He could start humming the song that flew in his veins. He sometimes wondered if the Force contained memory, because he could swear he could feel the Force in the high sounds of pipes and melancholic voice of a woman who shared the colour of his eyes and shape of his cheekbones. 

_ Billow and breeze, islands and seas, mountains of rain and sun. All that was good, all that was fair, all that was me is gone. _

_ All that was good, all that was fair, all that was me is gone. _

“We were supposed to discuss how to approach General Grievous on Utapau.” 

* * *

_ This is really happening. _

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, watching the blue, hologram figure kneeling. Dread overcome him, but underneath it, there also was a nauseating sense of _déjà vu._

_ This is not scaremongering. This is really happening. _

It feels like one of the dreams he used to have when he was younger. The ones in which there was red blood pooling under bodies, so many bodies. The ones that left him with ash in his mouth and blood on his teeth, and smell of burning flesh and acid. The ones in which he could hear heavy boots, meeting the durasteel floor of the hangar, and the sound resonated in his bones. The ones that kept leading him to this place.

_ This is not scaremongering. This is really happening. _

And yet, he couldn’t believe it. 

Was it all in vain? Was it all just meant to happen, over and over again? What kind of life he should have been leading to prevent it all from happening?

Was it his fault? Of course it was. Who else could know what was going to happen. 

_ This is not scaremongering. This is really happening. _

He saw the bodies in the council room, and he couldn’t give them the proper burial. And he hated himself for it. He went to Mustafar and he died on the hill, watching his brother burn, with ash in his mouth and blood on his teeth. And he hated himself that his body didn’t die with him. He turned his back on everyone and everything. And he hated himself for it.

_ This is really happening. _

* * *

He hadn’t had much time to pack his things, but he managed to grab a couple of things that were left in his quarters before he left for Utapau. Three burner comms that only Quinlan knew about, because he had given them to him after the Rako Hardeen shitshow; medkit, because Temple healers heard about what ~~his~~ medics did and decided to do the same thing here; flimsi books, too valuable to be left to rot with corpses, the only remains of their culture; spare (and clean) datapads; some clothes; and threadbare blanket from  _ The Negotiator _ , the one given to him by Cody. It still smelled like him. 

Everything else, the plants, tea, ~~Ana~~ favourite food, robes, well worn from use, but so comfortable, he left behind.

_ Just pack it and run, _ he said to himself.  _ Just take it and run. _

He ran away with both less and more he planned to. Luke squirmed in his arms, but he was still asleep. He couldn’t let him go. He couldn’t lay him down to get some rest, so he just dozed off a bit in his chair, hypervigilant of both his surroundings and the small newborn he held so dearly to his heart.

He was alive and the twins were alive, but everything else was already dying, rotten inside, eaten by a disease spread by the  _ Chancellor. _

He was alive and the first of the children, orphans of the new Empire, were also alive. He tried to tell himself that it must be enough for now. There was a hope, just not the one for him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. 

He woke up with a gasp. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you are confused by this fic, don't worry (damn, Obi-Wan definitely is confused). 
> 
> There's one fragment of a song that is used that's not Idioteque and it's [The Skye Boat Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGgMMUBX6kY). I used the version from Outlander, because I adore this show (I learnt more about Scottish history from it than from school). It was inspired by [Mirage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368582/chapters/66591778) by Blue_Sunshine. It was my favourite part of the whole series and that chapter really stuck with me. And well: Stewjon being a space Scotland is canon to me.
> 
> I haven't really meant to write this fic, but Idioteque lives in my head rent's free since September, and it kinda is about horryfing visions of the future, so I just changed the setting. And started playing with the idea of a plausible time travel, because it could be both or just either of it, but Obi-Wan would never know until he lived through it. If you see something different in it, please, don't hesitate to share your thoughts with me, I'd love to hear about it!
> 
> I was planning to keep mentions of Obi-Wan's lover also open to interpretation, but I love Cody, so it happened (but did it _really_ happened?).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
